


Junkyard

by digitalduckie



Series: Falloutverse: The Man in Black [7]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, threats of deadnaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 01:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14509938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalduckie/pseuds/digitalduckie
Summary: Royce and Redeye have a bad fight, but there is still work to be done to get the parks up to snuff.





	1. Call Me by My Name

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter has graphic domestic violence and includes threats of using a trans character's dead name. If you want to avoid this particular subject matter, you can skip the chapter and move on to the rest.

“There you go again!"

Royce looked from Redeye to the space behind himself and back as though checking to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else.

“Where did I go?” It was amazing that eyebrows could be raised so high and yet an expression remain so dry. The deliberate act of feigning ignorance as if he considered Redeye's reactions to be his own personal form of entertainment was more than irritating. It was insulting. He didn't exist to entertain- he didn't exist to be someone's fucking monkey.

“You keep calling me Russell!”

“That's not a 'where', Russell.” He even had the nerve to allow the corner of his mouth to curve up in a sarcastic smile around his cigarette, drawing out the name in his soft Southern accent. No, Redeye didn't want to get distracted. He wouldn't fall for the charm. He wouldn't allow a fire to burn inside, fueled by the way the name came out of his mouth with a smokey, breathy hiss- Damnit!

“I go by Redeye!” He demanded, forcing a scowl across his face and sticking his chest out.

“We've been through this before.” Royce sighed, bored and turning back to pouring himself a drink. Determined to not be ignored, Redeye joined him at the bar, leaning on an elbow to try and keep eye contact.

“Then why do you still call me Russell?”

“Because it's your name.” All the frustration of a parent who could only answer their child's question with 'Because I said so.'

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is.”

“It doesn't fucking matter if it's my name or not!” He pushed off the bar and spun once, hands scratching at the back of his head. “Everyone calls me Redeye!”

“How nice for them and convenient for you.”

“So why do you refuse?!” He was on the verge of throwing a complete tantrum. Maybe even ready to pull out his gun and what? Murder the Overboss? It sounded tempting. All the fucking in the world wasn't worth this bullshit. Royce simply turned, leaning back against the bar with his glass in one hand and cigarette in the other and eyes scanning him up and down.

“Do you know what a nomme de plume is?” He waited half a beat. “A moniker? A stage name?” The last one Redeye actually was familiar with and it filled him with a deep heated breath that he held tight in his chest. When had he gotten so defensive about it? Because Royce was right?

“I'm not using a nickname you gave yourself.”

“Well what about your name?” The dry look fell from the other man's face, giving way to a cold fire daring him to continue. Redeye had a chance to stop there; His tongue dragged across his teeth as fate waited for him to decide if he was going to tip over the edge and cross that line.

“My name is Royce.”

“Yeah, but what did your parents name you?”

“My parents call me Royce.”

“But you chose it-”

The glass fell to the floor, shattering as Royce swung his fist at Redeye's face. He turned in time to take the hit to his jaw but rebounded quickly, lunging to shove Royce back against the bar. They wrestled against each other briefly, but Royce was stronger, forcing himself out of Redeye's grip to smash his face against the bar top. He seized Redeye's kerchief in his fist, pulling back on it to choke him, causing him to spit blood out as he sputtered and coughed.

“I chose my name. It's true.” He hummed against his ear. “But there is one tiny little difference between our choices.” The grip tightened and Redeye began to see stars.

“I am not playing pretend. I am not putting on an act! I am Royce fucking Martin!” Redeye hadn't heard him scream like that since he had claimed his victory over Colter in the Gauntlet's arena. He clawed at his kerchief, throwing a fist behind himself hoping for even a soft body hit to convince him to let go already. Royce only let go after shoving him into the bar top once again. Knees gave out and he had little strength to hold himself upright against the surface littered with porcelain and glass, a surprising amount of debris resulting from their struggle. Redeye took several deep shaky breaths as Royce smoothed his own hair back into place, shoulders heaving.

“If you ever compare my name to a fucking nickname again, I will spell it out with your entrails.”

Redeye nodded weakly.

“Get out of here. You can forget about dinner.”


	2. Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redeye is enlisted in a scavenging trip to the junkyard and Royce leads the way.

The closest thing Redeye had to a mirror in his studio was a shard that he'd taken from one of the old bathrooms. It didn't typically see much use but as the week progressed, he found himself too angry to read. Too embarrassed to go out for more than a drink. Too stupid, or maybe too smart, to turn on the tower like a big middle finger to the Overboss and start broadcasting once again. So instead he found himself tremendously bored. Tracking the progress of his cuts and bruises as they turned from bright reds to deep purples and now taking on green and yellow tinges at the edges was as much validation as he knew he would receive.

"I'm fucking Royce Martin." He mocked at his own reflection. "Well I ain't Russell. Russell..." he repeated the name, attempting to roll it between his lips the same way Royce had. To make it anything but embarrassingly weak. It was a name unfitting of a raider and yet somehow the other man made it sound…

"You practicing something?" Lost in his thoughts, Redeye hadn't heard Gage come in and when he startled he cut his hand on the mirror.

"Shit! Fuck you all should learn how to knock!" Royce would knock at least.

"I need you to gear up."

"What? Why?" Redeye spoke around his hand as he nursed the wound.

"Why else? The boss has a job for you." Gage shrugged.

"No way. No, fuck him. I don't have to do shit for that asshole."

"Easy, tiger. I'm just the messenger. Again." Gage groaned, rubbing his fingertips against his forehead.

"Ain't that your job anyway?" Why was he always bitching about it?

"My job is to advise the boss on what's best for the parks and how to get it done. And I've already told him this," Gage threw a finger about Redeye's general direction, "is a bad idea." Redeye scowled though didn’t argue against the opinion. It made no sense to be offended when he was still mad at Royce. It wasn’t like they had been doing anything but fucking anyway.

"I don't suppose you have to do everything he says. That's your choice. But don't think he hasn't been counting your strikes. And don't forget what he does to people with too many strikes."

"Shit, alright." Redeye stood, looking about the space for his armor pieces as Gage took his leave.

\---

It was too bright and too hot out for this business. Even the distance from his station to the far side of the lake at the base of Fizztop Mountain was unbearable when covered in leather. Some days Redeye felt like some of the other raiders were on to something when they wore nothing more than pants under their armor. A few such cases were at attention among the group that had gathered at the Overboss's request for an as yet unknown assignment.

Redeye could have stayed at the back of the group, reducing the chances of having to deal with Royce directly, but a part of him wanted the man to see he had showed up. To prove he wasn't intimidated by their argument and that he wouldn't be run out of the park. To catch a glimpse of the man as he stood at the head of the group, tugging his gloves on in preparation for their departure. The knowledge that he would be going along sank in Redeye's stomach. Now he would have to deal with whatever was out there, the other raiders, and Royce all at once.

"Alright, listen up." Gage's voice shot out over the group, quieting their chatter. "The boss wants to go through this only once so shut your pie holes and pay attention."

"Thank you, Gage. Eloquent as always." Royce gave the man a pat to the back though Redeye had little doubt he would have preferred to reach the top of his head like a fucking dog. With the attention of those gathered, Royce hopped up onto the lower tier of the dry fountain, kicking garbage aside to give himself a clear stage.

"As many of you may know, we are in dire need of power around here. Particularly for defenses. You never know when someone may think they'd like to sit pretty up on this mountain and swoop in to take it for themselves." He grinned ear to ear, entirely full of shit for having done just that himself. Redeye wasn’t the only one who seemed less than amused by the reminder as he noted a couple of raiders making an obscene gesture just out of sight.

"Unfortunately the power plant is not a venture we can afford just yet, so we will have to make do with something a little more home brewed. Now Markus over here," he motioned to a grimy looking raider, "knows the sort of components we'll need to fix up some old generators that will give us some more juice. And you lot are going to A) help find them and B) keep Markus alive because, shit, if we do A but not B then we're screwed. Unless anyone else knows how to fix the things up." He allowed a brief moment for protest.

"Congratulations, Markus. You have no competition.” Royce clapped just three times in applause before carrying on. “Now then, our search is going to take us to the junkyard out west. If Markus tells you to grab it, you grab it. Don’t waste our time taking anything you don’t need, it will be there next time.” Royce paced the width of the group as he spoke, stopping at one end when he made eye contact with Redeye.

“If you're already too chicken shit, you're welcome to stay put. But anyone who doesn't go, won't get paid. No work, no caps." He pointed at the gates just beyond Fizztop's west side. "Once we go through those gates, there's no turning back. So if we're all clear, let's head on out."

With a short hop down, Royce received a shotgun from Gage and adjusted the leather chest piece he wore under his jacket before he began to lead the way. The gates were too far north for a direct route to the junkyard, but the river that ran through the middle of the parks cut Nuka Town off from their destination. They would need a bridge to cross it and the closest one was at the front of the Galactic Zone.  
When the raiders had first arrived at the beckoning of Colter, many had ventured out to the other parks to scout and potentially seize control of them. Redeye himself had made his way to Kiddie Kingdom once, but never the futuristic park to the west. Its walls and celestial structures loomed over the group, casting long, cold shadows across their path. It looked as though it ought to have been teeming with activity, with sounds of whizzies and whooshes, beeping and booping, clinking and clanking. Instead, it was eerily still and it gave Redeye shivers.

There had clearly been settlers living in the park, crude wooden lookout posts still standing. The group began to stall, a few curious raiders approaching the gate at the sight of a few corpses and disabled bots just beyond the limits.

“Stay out of the park!” Royce called out, Gage repeating after him and waving the group back together. “We stay on task and we get this done quick!” As the group continued forward, Royce remained where he stood, discouraging anyone from splitting off in search of glory in a solo adventure. Sooner or later, however, they would have to return to the Galactic Zone and something told Redeye he would rather be dead. He absolutely would rather be dead than talk to Royce again and staunchly avoided his gaze as he began to walk past.

“Russell.” Royce called, still refusing to drop the name. Redeye clenched his teeth and tightened the grip on the lead pipe he carried, stopping just beyond the Overboss.

“That’s not my name.”

“I’m not going to refer to you as an infection of some sort.” Royce stepped away from his post to join Redeye’s side. “But I do need to know that you can focus on this task. That I can count on you here.”

“Fuck, we’re just picking up garbage.” Redeye scowled. How difficult could it be?

“From what I understand, we had some people there before, but they haven’t been seen for some time now. I don’t know what to expect, but it may be bad news, so it’s better to be overly prepared than caught with our pants down.” As he spoke, Royce reached for Redeye’s face, running a thumb over one of the cuts on his cheek. The raider jerked away, swatting at his hand instinctively before realizing what he had just done. His heart began to race as he waited for the fallout of his actions. For Royce to yell at him. For him to decide that maybe it was better off to just shoot him and be over with it already. Royce frowned.

“You should have seen Dr Bridgeman for a stimpak.”

“Like you actually give a- shit!” Cries and sudden gunfire from the head of the group resonated and disrupted their conversation.

The approaching raiders had disturbed a small pack of feral ghouls as they rounded the edge of the Galactic Zone, a few members ambushed and knocked to the ground by the snarling creatures. Royce broke from Redeye, rushing ahead to take aim with his shotgun.

“Stay focused! There’s more of us than them!” he commanded, blasting one of the ghouls off a Pack member, their plush armor shredded but luckily having kept them alive for now. Redeye watched the chaos in seeming slow motion, raiders gathering together to gang up on each feral, a few pulling their fallen comrades away to safety. Royce continued to call shots, directing the groups, his coat flaring out as he spun about. And then, just beyond him, Redeye saw it.

One of the ghouls had stumbled beyond the bulk of the action and locked its eyes on Royce. His heart ramped up, going from frozen in shock, to an adrenaline fueled launch forward. He screamed as he ran past the other man, swinging his lead pipe back before bringing it around with full force. It made contact only as the ghoul was thrown aside by a handful of gunshots, knocking Redeye off balance. When he caught himself and the ghoul was a jumbled heap a yard and a half away from him in the grass, he looked up to see Gage trotting to Royce’s side. The two exchanged some words and nods before walking off to assess the damage. Redeye was left alone, pipe slipping from his hands and into the mud below.


	3. Peaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the junkyard doesn't go quite as smoothly as Royce hoped.

The junkyard was no more than a couple of miles from the park walls and in that span the scavenging group had come across feral ghouls, a small cast of mirelurks, and a couple of rad scorpions. With at least half a dozen dead and almost as many injured, their numbers had been halved. And upon arriving, Royce found he was less two raiders he hadn't ever known, their corpses rotting in the workshop at the edge of the yard. What should have been a simple task was costing him more than he had anticipated, but it would all be worth a few lives once they had all the parks secure and operating.

"Right. Here's how this is going to go." Royce addressed the remaining raiders within the workshop. "There will be four groups of three, each group taking a different corner and working inward toward the center."

He drew a vague map of the junkyard in chalk on the concrete floor of the workshop. There were a few landmarks, particularly large or prominent structures that had at some point been dropped off without the knowledge that they would become points of reference centuries later. Chief among them were some transit buses, a dilapidated soda bottle sculpture, rusted oversized teacups, and what he assumed was an old ride from one of the parks. A hulking red flying saucer like piece that sat atop a mound of dirt and garbage at the center of the yard.

"Once your group reaches the center, switch off with another group. Go back through their corner and bring everything you find back to the workshop here. And for God's sake be thorough. We need everything we can use."

He looked up from the map, surveying his crew. There was an elephant in their silence and he smiled casually.

"Look, whatever killed those two-"

"Ricki and Oran, Boss."

"Whatever it was, it's not in here right now. Hell for all we know they put up a good fight and it's injured or dead and long gone. Everyone has weapons so now all you need is to grow a pair and get to work. If something or someone attacks you, just fucking kill it." Perhaps easier said than done in many cases, especially considering the loses they had already incurred. Royce stood, dusting his knees off as the raiders began to group off, Gage assigning them their starting points.

"Russell." Once again he was met by exasperation from the raider and once again he ignored it. It was, however, getting very old. "I want you in the group with Markus. Maybe you'll pick up a thing or two that will come in handy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Redeye rested his lead pipe on his shoulder and Royce took offense to the thought that he might feel the need to use it.

"It means you fixed up the station mostly by yourself so for fuck's sake Russell take the compliment that I have faith that you can do a good job here."

The weapon came down, hanging at Redeye’s side as he searched for something in what he’d just been told. Royce could see the conflict plain as day on his face. “I don’t get you.”

“If you’re ever confused about something, just ask. It’s not hard.” He motioned to Markus and another raider waiting on Redeye by the door. “Now get.”

With all the scavenging groups out of the workshop, Royce took a moment to check in with the few raiders who stayed behind, each of them injured en route but still willing to contribute. They would help sort what was brought back, but until then they were lookouts. The junkyard itself was primarily a pit, sinking low into the ground so that tops of many of the piles of scrap seemed to sit on level with the parks. He wondered how much of it had sunk over the years and how much of it had simply been dug out. Regardless, it allowed a perimeter of high ground to walk, keeping an eye on the scavenging process and any potential threats.

Royce watched as the groups spread out, climbing piles of garbage and pulling out various bits of potential. Occasionally they would call to each other, reaffirming whether or not something was useful and with more than one instance of laughing about some absurdity they had stumbled across. He lit a cigarette and smiled at the sight, both confident in his goals for the parks and pleased that the raiders at least remotely enjoyed their tasks at hand. A sour worker was ineffective after all.

One pair of raiders found the upper half of an animatronic alien not unlike the one he had encountered in the Gauntlet. Hoisting it up with a laugh, they talked between themselves for a moment before clearly lying in wait for their third member to round the bend upon them.

“Stay on track, boys.” He called out to them, catching the attention of all three and earning himself the friendliest finger from the two pranksters. An exhale of smoke was his only response.

“Overboss!” A cry came from one of the lookouts to his right and his attention turned sharply to her. She waved him over between bursts of her semi-automatic and as he ran over he could hear the commotion more clearly. Down below and barely in sight beyond a pile of signs full of shattered bulbs and empty sockets was one of the groups fending off a small colony of mole rats. It should come as no surprise that the rodents would appreciate a burrow in such a setting.

“Cover me.” He instructed the raider as he climbed down from the perimeter and scaled a mass of steel framework partway into the pit. If his boots reached the mud, he risked putting himself in easy reach of a surprise assault from the burrowing creatures. By keeping even moderately higher ground, such as atop garbage, he retained an advantage.

With at least two of the rodents felled and the others out of sight, Royce whistled sharply for the attention of the group.

“Regroup! Back-to-back!” No sooner had they obeyed did one of the mole rats burst up through the ground once again. It lunged and snarled at the trio, taking shots directly to the head and reeling backward. Royce let out a small sigh.

The creatures were a minimal issue so long as everyone remained calm and focused, so when a brood mother clawed her way out, he was certain that it wouldn’t take much to eliminate her. Until she got a hold of someone’s leg, sinking her teeth into his shin and calf to bring him to the ground.

“Shit.” It was a gruesome sight and the raider, a Disciple, swiped frantically at the rat’s face with his blade as he was dragged along. Encouraged by their matriarch, three more mole rats emerged, taking aim at the fallen and others. The entire scene was out of effective reach of the lookouts, their shots either missing altogether or risking hitting their comrade. Sometimes, often times, if you wanted a job done right, you had to do it yourself.

Royce slung his shotgun over his shoulder, climbing the remainder of the way down the mound and dropping the last five feet so that his boots sank into the mud below. God fucking help him if he came out of this smelling like the dump, but he was tired of losing too many assets. He slowed his charge as he caught up with the group, taking out one mole rat and quickly knocking another off its feet before slashing its belly with his bayonet. With the additional backup, the mole rats were soon finally quelled and the injured raider was assessed. There was no way he was standing on his own and reluctantly the group would have to take him to the workshop.

“Fine. Take him.” Royce waved a hand before rubbing at his forehead, specks of blood already drying there. “Give him some Med-X or some shit until we can take him back to the park.”

“You coming back, too, Boss?”

Royce looked about and shook his head. “No. I’m already down here, I might as well try to make up for lost time.”

He gave an all clear signal to the lookouts and they continued with their vigilance. One of them had a habit of whistling, the sound carrying out softly over the site. It was obnoxious, but Royce did his best to tune it out, alert only for something more alarming.

This particular section of the yard contained some of the transit buses, stacked in some places rather haphazardly. How they had managed to stay in place was beyond him. As he passed any that appeared unlikely to come down on his head, he’d slip inside on the off chance that someone or something had left something useful inside. Most were devoid of value. As he was nearing the center of the yard, he had only managed to find a bit of copper and a well hidden stash of caps. Perhaps formerly belonging to one of the raiders that had previously attempted to scout the area. Twenty-five caps was not a miserable haul for a secret stash and so he felt rewarded for his efforts. The feeling was fleeting however as something rustled, a blur beyond the window of the bus.

Immediately he dropped to a crouch, his weapon pointed toward the door of the bus though nothing came. Just outside, the air was still and silent. The lookout's whistling had stopped. For that matter, he couldn't see any of them. He was too far down and they were too far from the edge perhaps. Or worse, they'd been pulled away to another incident he couldn't hear. No. It was definitely too quiet. Knots twisted in his gut and he knew he had two options: backtrack his way and find an exit or continue toward the center and find his way up onto higher ground once again. The latter was quicker despite being the same direction as whoever had scurried by, confirmed by a set of footprints in the mud that carried on further than his own had yet to.

"Well, it can't get any worse." He muttered, tossing his expended cigarette aside.

Each step he took was cautious, his weight precisely distributed to avoid as much sound as possible. To muffle his breathing, he pulled a bandana up over his nose. The soft creaking and pinging of metallic structures at the mercy of gravity and the wind echoed around him, the only other temptation to expedite his movements. Soon, voices began to carry as he came around the bend of another pile and he came to relax as he recognized the tone as one of the groups doing their job. After a particularly distinct guffaw, he sighed and lowered his weapon.

“I swear to God, Russell, you could wake the dead-”

It was the most massive bot Royce had ever seen in his life. Three spindled legs similar to that of a spider or a crab, a hulking barrel of a torso like chasis, and guns so large they’d make the Brotherhood wet themselves with pleasure. Easily eight feet of intimidation painted a deafening black. With a quick spin, he was out of sight around the bend again, protected by an awkward sculpture of a gorilla protruding from the garbage surrounding him. It seemed to laugh at him with empty eyes and a gaping maw. Royce frowned, reminding himself it was better to be careful than dead. Collecting himself, he re-approached the area, the bot now clearly slumped over as it was disengaged.

“What a piece of shit.” A piece of shit he wanted desperately if they could get it working. It would require a separate trip back later, unfortunately. Just beyond his right side came a short, sharp yelp that was quickly buried behind a hand.

“Boss!” Redeye, Markus, and their third had reached the center, each carrying what was hopefully a bevy of supplies.

“Er- Everything alright?” Royce’s presence must have put the songster on edge. Yet despite everything that had happened, despite the very likely possibility that Redeye had slacked in his scavenging, Royce found himself smiling.

“Everything’s peaches.” He held up a hand, making a familiar O shape with his finger and thumb and finding himself terribly funny for it.

Ahead, Markus’ eyes grew wide, staring just beyond him. A whistle blew overhead, less an alarm than a signal. And from behind Royce came the crescendo whir of the bot stirring to action.


	4. The Forklift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gage learns a new skill that comes in handy.

"Knock it down!" Royce shouted in Gage’s direction as he came to join him, ducked down behind an old billboard.

"With what exactly? A good left hook?!" He could see the action between the panels that had warped and pulled away from the original frame of the board. The bot was deceptively slow. Any second it could launch into a full charge, bowling over and crushing anyone and most anything in its path.

"It has no way to right itself so we've got to tip it over!"

"Sure thing, Boss. We'll get a forklift and flip it-" Royce snapped his fingers, interrupting Gage.

"There's one in the workshop. Make it quick!"

"You can't be serious!" He was met with a stare that had already become far too familiar. Royce was absolutely serious.

"The right pedal is the gas, the left is brake unless there’s three and then the left most is clutch. I didn't take a close look. One lever moves the-"

"How the hell do you know this?"

"One lever moves the fork! I know you're smart enough to figure this out and I know you sure as hell aren't dumb enough to still be sitting there now go!"

Gage scrambled to his feet with a curse and fought to keep a low profile. There were only about a dozen able-bodied raiders in the yard and half a dozen injured acting as lookouts, but he couldn't be certain how many may have succumbed to the machine already. As he hurried toward the workshop, he could see at least four struggling to stay out of its path and lay as much damage to it as possible, but they would hardly be enough to do more than keep it distracted so that he could slip away.

Coming his way down the path, he waved off two raiders drawn from the workshop by the commotion. "It's a sentry bot! Stay to the perimeter!" They nodded and turned about to remain on higher ground, one digging into their pockets for a grenade. At least someone else was prepared for this sort of thing.

The workshop was empty save for the scrap it housed, Royce's chalk map, and an injured Disciple propped against the wall with a bloody leg.

"Mole rats." He offered an excuse.

"Yeah they can be a right bastard." Gage grumbled his sympathy as he spotted the forklift. Then again, maybe mole rats weren't the bastard on his mind. The vehicle sat stationery on a shallow ramp that backed up to doors on the side of the workshop and it was smaller than he recalled.

Though the struggle was in the middle of the yard, the chaos of the situation carried and large explosions still shook the workshop, rumbling through the floor. Gage cursed again, tossing some debris out of the way before climbing into the forklift’s seat, his armor barely affording him the room between the bars of its roll cage.

"What the hell is going on out there?" The Disciple scowled, making an effort to stand on his own.

"Sit your ass back down. It's a sentry bot."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah unfortunately." Gage examined the steering column, the pedals, and the levers at either side of the seat. He tentatively pressed a foot down on the pedal on his right and the lift creaked and jerked forward before he removed his foot again.

"Shit you're not pitting that little thing against it, are you?"

"Boss's orders." Gage scowled though he was relieved that the vehicle ran apparently on a battery or a hidden fusion core that must still have juice.

"He's insane."

"Yep."

The lift still held a damaged arcade machine on its forks and briefly Gage considered hauling the machine off, lightening the load. But then again, it could be put to good use as a sort of battering ram. With a short hop off, he ran about the workshop, flinging open drawers and tossing their contents about until he found it: a roll of duct tape. One cabinet held some turpentine and an old rag that he considered a bonus.

With his teeth, he tore off pieces of the tape, rigging the arcade with everything he had at hand: five fragment grenades and the bootleg molotov. The continued explosions outside reminded him that he was taking too long but he needed this extra impact if he had any hope of the lift being of any use.

Back in the seat, he pressed the pedal again, propelling himself forward up the ramp and across the workshop floor. He took a sharp left to force his way through a set of doors, nearly tipping over in the process. If he died in this thing, he'd have a few choice words with the Overboss.

The ride back to the center of the yard was harrowing and Gage quickly learned he couldn’t afford to go too fast or else the entire thing would threaten to fall over and set off his rig far too soon. Mud kicked up behind the rear wheel, the load on the lift shook and rattled, and the wheel slipped in his hands more than once. When everything was said and done, he’d take a moment to have a sense of pride in having accomplished something he never knew he’d have the chance or even the desire to. The thrill of piloting one’s self at a moderate speed outpaced only by the monorail but more tangible. He shook his head clear, reminding himself all of it could be enjoyed if and only if he survived the endeavor.

More importantly, there would be no joy in Nuka World if the Overboss was lost and that was a very likely possibility when Gage spotted him going toe to toe with the sentry bot. No doubt impatient for his return, Royce had brought the bot’s attention on himself, running backward up the mound topped with the old UFO ride. It would take the bot some repositioning to follow him, but once it could, it would likely charge and go right over the edge. It was gutsy and brilliant and stupid. And Gage knew just how to give it a helping hand.

As he came about the bend, bringing the forklift to the base of the hill, he slammed his fist repeatedly against the center of the wheel, blaring a horn in alarm. It caught the sentry bot’s attention, evident as its upper half began to twist about in his direction. Using the levers, Gage brought the rig up inline with the bot’s torso, serving as a shield and battering ram in one. With a cry, he pressed the accelerator down till it met the floor board and propelled the vehicle full speed at his target.

When the forklift was mere feet from collision at the peak of the hill, Gage dove out from the operator’s seat, rolling away down the hill and covering his head. Explosions followed however the gunfire from the sentry continued until there was a deafening bang and crash. With a cautious peek from under his arm, the raider caught the tail end of the action: The bot in smoke and flames going over the edge and taking the red UFO ride with it. Bracing, he knew to expect the bot’s final last ditch self-destruct attempt, the entire junkyard rumbling with it and undoubtedly knocking more than a couple of the surviving raiders onto their asses.

Relief spread through Gage’s entire body and he sighed into the dirt beneath himself. He wanted nothing more than a moment away from the chaos, a chance to worry about nothing except whether or not the fish were biting. Unfortunate for him, there was shit to be done, important people to be found, and he straightened his face out as one of the survivors came around to help him up.

“I’m good.” He shrugged them off as he rose. “Where’s the boss? Where’s Markus?”


	5. Meanwhile...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the others face off against the sentry bot, Redeye makes his own discovery.

That thing had been inactive. It had sat still, slumped over and unaware of the raiders in its vicinity. But the moment someone or something had set it off, Redeye bolted, abandoned Royce, Markus, and all the others to the sentry bot’s assault. He hated it, even as he was running, stumbling through muck away from the center of the junkyard. Hated that he was such a coward. That he couldn’t spin it as smartly picking his battles the way that Royce could have. He ran not because he knew it was best, but because he was drenched with fear.

A short distance from the struggle, he found a discarded monorail car, the door jammed and stuck open ready to shelter him. It was dimly lit, shaded by the garbage surrounding it, yet he followed the rows of scuffed red seats down the length to the end farthest from the door. At the end, he turned and crouched, his old pipe pistol aimed at any potential intruders.

What good would the handmade weapon do against a sentry bot, though? It wouldn’t even need to fit into the car to kill him. It could ram it repeatedly, eventually crushing him like a tin can. It could launch missiles and blow it open, shrapnel piercing his body and the force of the blast knocking him unconscious if not outright killing him. Maybe he should welcome death or else Royce was surely going to take the matter into his own hands. Redeye shook the thoughts from his head.

“No. No, I’ll just stay here. Till it all blows over.” He nodded. “No one’ll know. It’s-”

An explosion went off and he tucked himself into a tighter ball instinctively.

“It’s so fucked up out there right now, no one would know if I was out there or not anyway.” he whispered to himself, eyes squeezed shut. “No one can tell. No one can tell.”

The more he panted, the more he began to realize how suffocating the air was. The smell of rot filled his nostrils and once his mind identified it, he nearly retched. He must have been sitting right on top of it. He pulled his bandana up over his face though it wasn’t enough and so his hand held it firmly in place to dull the scent.

Around him was a small pile of debris and garbage, an expected sight in the junkyard. It hardly seemed fitting of the level of stench he was experiencing however. He brushed some of it aside with the end of his pistol, digging through it until he saw it under the row of seats.

A corpse tucked up in desperate shelter, too little too late. He startled, falling back off his heels and scrambling to put distance between the body and himself. The skin was pale and the pool of blood underneath had since dried. But he knew the face. He had stared at it all week in his mirror at the station. The implications of seeing himself, dead, brought tears to his eyes and they steadily began to stream down his cheeks, soaking into his palm. It was only at the rumble of the ground, the creaking groan of heavy metal shifting, that he pried himself away from the scene, scurrying out of the car.

He fell over when another louder explosion went off, his knees already weak from the emotional drain of his encounter. It took every ounce of his strength to push himself back up to his feet, further smearing mud down the front of his clothes before he made his way back toward the others. Even if the gunfire had not ceased, he might not have had it in himself to keep either of his weapons at the ready, and when he staggered back to the center, he watched slack-jawed as Gage and two other raiders pried open the felled UFO ride to help lift Royce out from within. Heat came off the flaming remains of the sentry bot in waves, stinging his eyes. Someone groaned, clutching their side. And not ten feet to Redeye’s left laid the body of Markus.

\----

As they returned to Nuka Town, the raiders began to filter off to their destinations. Those with supplies for the generators were directed to the garage workshop. Anyone injured or assisting the injured immediately went to the market to overwhelm Dr Bridgeman. Some of the muscle agreed to some drinks at Cappy's or to hit up one of the many chem sources. A few were even content to head back to whatever nook or cranny they called home in the park to relax or brag to compatriots. Redeye was off for his station, predictable as such that Royce was able to cut him off before he could get far.

“Russell.” His tone was flat and straight forward, denying the degree of anger that would have been valid given the afternoon's events. “Dinner. 7 o'clock.”

Redeye gawked first and then shrugged, his hands thrown out wide. “Fine. Whatever.”

“And for the love of God, wash up first.” With a nod, Royce turned to carry out business before the appointment.


	6. A Rose by Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's clear they're not going to get anywhere if Royce and Redeye don't settle their differences already.

It wasn't as though Royce was one to bite without being asked to, but then he could also understand Gage's choice of pulling up a chair to the end of the booth rather than to slide into the seat next to him. For the both of them to sit, side by side, in front of Redeye would have come across as paternal in some way. Though, at times, he wondered if he was beginning to feel like the nanny of a hoard of unruly dimwits, so it may have been fitting.

The trio sat in an awkward silence as Royce helped himself to a fresh cigarette and then scratched at his eyebrow. “Where do I even begin?”

“How about with his many failures?” Gage offered, arms crossed over his chest in defiance of Redeye's protests.

“Shut your ass, Gage! You bitch about me all the time but this don't involve you!”

“Like Hell it doesn't. I don't know if you've noticed but I live and work here, too.”

“Children.”

“No! Don't give me that crap.” Redeye stood, hands on the surface of the table as he turned his anger on Royce. “You're fucked right the fuck up! First you refuse to call me by my name, then you beat the crap out of me, and after all that, without even fucking apologizing, you invite me over for dinner and some dick with this asshole because you think I want it so bad I'll just roll over and take whatever I can get?”

“This is not that kind of dinner, Russell.” Royce bit back his temper, Redeye making enough of a scene on his own. He averted his eyes to the raider going red and quietly sitting back down.

“Thank God.” Gage muttered under his breath.

“Gage, I apologize. I'll have your dinner sent down, but it appears that Russell and I need to have this discussion one on one. It's nothing personal.”

With a nod, Gage stood from his seat to see himself to the door. “You should throw him out. He's a liability.” he offered over his shoulder.

When the door clicked shut Royce sighed, running his thumb under the end of his cigarette as he considered what he should address first. His inability to do the one simple thing he had been asked to do that afternoon? The misunderstanding of what this meeting's intended purpose was? The fact that he had broken perhaps two of the rules already? The increasingly argumentative behavior of the raider before him?

“I know I gave you explicit instructions. I know you heard them. And I refuse to believe your brain is so shriveled up that it can’t even process the information.” Clearly, seeing as the raider had managed to be on time for the meeting at least. “So, I want to know what precisely it was that you were thinking back there.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe that I didn’t want to die?” Redeye bit his lip, holding back.

“Mmhmm. I’m sure that exact same thought went through Markus’s head, too. Hell, it went through mine at least three times, Russell.”

“That’s not my name!” With a heave, he threw his glass past Royce’s head and across the Grille, staring at the space it had been on the table after it shattered against the wall.

This was the underlying issue at hand. If there wasn’t a resolution to the argument over his name, they would never make any progress. And now with Markus gone, he needed Redeye more than ever. After a moment to let tempers fade a little, Royce took a deep breath and then a slow exhale.

“Russell. It means red.” He flicked ashes into the tray he had on hand. “Red is kinetic- full of energy. Vitality. It's forceful and passionate. It's vulgar and at times horrific, but it has an intensity that cannot be denied.”

Redeye looked away toward the bar, lower lip tucked tightly between his teeth.

“And that is what I expected of you. Because names hold power.” It wasn't as if he hadn't met anyone who didn't live up to their name. But he had high hopes for this particular one.

“I need you to take it to heart and make something of it. Stop dicking around and using it to fight everyone like a Goddamn bull.”

Royce allowed Redeye the opportunity to process the things he had said, silence sitting between them and only disrupting whenever one or the other would shift in their seat. Redeye couldn't get comfortable, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them, looking everywhere but directly at Royce. He shifted his plate to one side and then the other. He began to drum his fingertips on the table briefly and then stopped suddenly, clearing his throat.

“My mama gave it to me.” When he finally spoke, it was softly and directed at his own lap. “I always hated it. Everyone laughed at me.”

Royce took a deep breath and laid his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. A sob life story was not what he was after but he had to admit it was an expected side effect. Names held power, that much was true. But names could put their power in the hands of someone else.

“Own it.”

“I ain't weak. I'm not some fucking loser.”

“I said own it.”

“I'm not- I'm-” Redeye sucked in air, his gaze finally matching Royce's. “I just want to be everything you said I should be.”

“It's in your control, Russell. I know you can do this. And we need it now. The parks need it.”

“I don’t know how to fix a generator.” He shook his head. “You’re just going to be sitting around waiting for me to- to figure it out.”

Royce leaned back in his seat, neither relaxing nor tensing. He didn’t want to admit defeat. Didn’t want the one person who was arguably one of the most underrated members of the parks to admit defeat.

“We won’t be sitting around. I don’t waste time like that. But,” he put a hand up to silence Redeye before he could protest, “I do want you working on it at the same time. We still need someone with those skills and you’re the closest thing we’ve got. So if there’s anything you need, you let me know. I’ll work out another solution or a supplement in the meantime.”

“I really don’t get you.” Once again, Redeye shook his head in disbelief.

“I told you to just ask.”

“Why me?” The question was stupid and Royce scoffed with a grin. That subject had been their entire conversation.

“I told you. Because you can do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Royce nodded and observed the other man as he contemplated something, poking at his meal with a fork until he made up his mind. He set the utensil back down and licked his lips.

“You were set up today. That sentry bot wasn’t an accident.”

“Oh, I know.” A grin spread across his face. “Do me another favor, would you?”

“What’s that, Boss?”

“Get those assholes together for me. I’ll get them to whistle a different sort of tune.”


End file.
